We are the eternal marriage
Of blood and mind.
The saints in their rapture
Ne'er held eyes as sweet
Nor hands that unearthed a homecoming.

But I, lost among the found
Stranger in A strange land
Have but the dawn to spin for your veil
And each star forged in the host of man,
Will take your cheek only to gift a kiss
Upon your lips.

With surf stained sigh
These are the dreams
In which I sink
And tomorrow you will think of me,
And tomorrow you will think of me

As I remember
These leprous hands
Which once danced in
Carfuné
Betraying a dream.

Your beauty lies between sheets of dream,
On your eyelids have fallen the rough tears of stars,
There they have taken root like a magnificent oak.

With Every glance I give to you
A leaf falls into my palm;
They are chips of ivory and fire,
They are cut from the edges of glorious desire,
They melt upon my tongue like snowflakes.

Soft, soft, I raise my shaking hand to the memory of you
Long, long I dream of our afternoons
Solid and perfect.

And the image of your eyes
The colour, a Van Gogh blue,
Stolen from that starry night
with a transfer of wine,
sets my heart ablaze.

My curled lips have brushed the beauty of your celluloid shape,
The wind brought form to elegance as it caressed your hair
When the tide brought rhythm to your kiss.

Tonight's moon is a slipper where I will rest your heart,
There I will wrap it in silk and water it with silver streams
Until your beauty breaks through the starlit boundaries,
And as it grows into a magnificent oak,
I shall sit beneath the shade of its bows
With my palms anticipating the fall of a leaf.

Just ******* Nelly
and **** a fat **** Pitbull.
I want some Nick Drake.

Tonight's grey cloud hangs over the pearlescent blue and pink of today.
The gray is an avalanche
criss-crossed  
with black
powerlines
that spread like cracks in a mirror.

The rain starts to fall.

To my right is a young blonde
age (17?) unknown.
        Her bag and telephone
would
match
        but for a shade.

The rain starts to fall.

Young lovers kiss in the calm embrace of one another
beneath an awning the colour of
old ladies - no
boredom - no
subjugation -no.
        the under side of an old mattress.

The rain starts to fall.

Across the gap stands an Asian man with the complete accoutrements of a golfer.
Obfuscated now by a train
with the palette of a McDonald's ad.

The rain starts to fall.

The streets are become slick
and every lamp bleeds the start
of an oil painting
with brushes made of light.

The air is cool.

There is a canal that stretches between seats, walled by rows of heads.
In the distance a little girl peaks her head up in the middle of all this,
she wears a bright pink plastic bow on her head that blinks and glows.

Traffic lights streak
green and red
over black gesso.

Cars streak
silver and blood
down black gesso.

"I simply don't need to cheapen things further"

Matching work uniforms.
Matching looks of boredom
Matching shoes and glances
Matching telephones
Matching lack of conversation
Matching hair
Matching matching carpet and drapes
Matching posture

why is everything matching?
       (they got off at the same station)

Suburban princess holds the phone like a bible.

I attempt to sketch her arm in my head....but I am too ******.

I am hungry.
The outside air is cool.

This is a carriage for the antisocial
3 rooms of solitude.
Everyone is plugged in
No-one dares to speak.

The Art of Conversation.

An old woman sits in front of me, with the face of Ray Winstone in drag.
Her hair is a dandelion
and her eyebrows are birds
painted in the distance.
Hands wrinkled and knotty
like old fruit.

Trains are predictable
the purest form of modern transport
all the little fishies
in the giant metal can
are silent to one another.

The train conductors voice is boredom.

I mistake ambient noise for music.

She is the shadow that hangs around my door,
who's memories are counted in wine bottles
dressed by the winter sun.

She is sweetness and pain,
both beautiful and broken
both complete and incomplete
in her beauty.

And I surrender.

Her deepest desire,
her happiest Herod that dwells in
crystal coves and voluminous virility
now spun as golden spiders webs
where my love lies, sterling.

There, in your grass a
personal criminal writes a
holocaust to culture.
He spins the Atomic clouds around
mycological skeletons
who hold constellations in their
time scarred jaws.

And there we were, the seekers of a golden dream
my mouth fell on yours, and you took me in.

Humanity is a bloodbath,
that takes you in.
The realization takes you by surprise
and we kiss
****** roses.


She is the shadow that hangs around my door...

I posted a status today.
I got the job I wanted.
My heart was was on high.
And no one liked it.

I posted a status today.
It was a youtube video
about some funny dumb ****.
And four people liked it.

I posted a status today.
It was political and a fresh point of view about gay rights.
Six people liked it. And one person de-friended me.

I posted a status today.
It was about drinking and partying my *** off.
Fifteen people liked it. And three commented on joining in.

I posted a status today.
I said how sad it was what I saw today:
That a couple is out to dinner.
And spent most of the time looking at facebook instead of
enjoying each others company and talking.
Twenty people liked it.  One of them was the guy I saw at the restaurant.
A person commented on that status saying, "******."
No one liked that person's comment.

I posted a status today.
"Say -- John Mayer"
What I meant to say was, "Why are we so afraid of saying what we need to say?"
Two likes.

I posted one last status today.
#Amurica.
Twenty-eight likes.
And a SMH as I looked at my smart phone.

i am not a mathmatician
so don't pretend that i am
don't make me write down endless strings of numbers that
i don't understand

do not choke me with square roots of evil
or drown me in formulas
while telling me reading music
is not a real skill
as i've noticed you can't do it
nor can the lady across the hall
you've gotten through life alright
but i haven't seen you smile once.

Math worked out for you i see.
And i grin because i can read music.

I had a dream
that I was dead
and it hurt to move
and I moved so slowly.
The light was yellow-green
and so was my skin.
My brother was dead
than I was. He couldn't move.
Not even slowly.
My house was stripped
of its carpet and it's furniture.
My parents were there. They were dead.
It hurt to move.
And I moved so slowly.
I wore white and there was blood on me.
I carried white wreaths and set them
on the hard floor.
I was hungry.
But my mouth would not move
and stomach could hold nothing.
I kneeled.
It hurt to move.
And I moved so slowly.
The curtains were white
the windows were open.
I could not hear. I was numb in my head.
It hurt to move.
And I moved so slowly.
I had to get up and go down the stairs.
My eyes were dead.
It hurt to move.
And I moved so slowly.